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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24140617">Everywhere I Go I Hear Your Name</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/malena/pseuds/malena'>malena</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Men's Football RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - 1970s, Developing Relationship, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Intimacy, M/M, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Nostalgia, Romantic Friendship, andy as an adopted scouser of sorts, wtf am i doin man</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:07:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,038</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24140617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/malena/pseuds/malena</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Trent and Andy are both Liverpool supporters living during the 1970s who just can't seem to face their own feelings for each other.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Trent Alexander-Arnold/Andrew Robertson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A note or two before we begin:</p><p>-The match I’m referencing here for a good portion of the story is a regular league match played at Anfield, not the FA Cup final which Liverpool actually lost to United.<br/>-This same year, Liverpool won their first European Cup in Rome, but not until the end of the month of May (the final was on the 25th). However, in the semi finals the Reds beat Zurich 6-1 on aggregate back in April so I assume spirits at the club were very high in general. That definitely has something to do with the characterisation of Trent and Andy.<br/>-I don't know everything (if that wasn't obvious) so if there are any glaring issues in here... please tell me :) ok that's all<br/></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Anfield, 3 May 1977</p><p>There really isn’t a lot to say about the noise level in the Kop that hasn’t already been said, but the filth, grime, and the grit that gets in your eyes from bits of flying debris is rarely talked about. But, Trent reasons in his head, it’s easy to overlook such things. </p><p>He’s here with his best mate on derby day, and the dirtiness of Anfield is not important now, especially when Manchester United are here, and Trent feels somewhat responsible to try to instil fear into them himself, sinking into the crowd as the Kop becomes one living breathing unit. He loses his identity momentarily, only to replace it with something much more important. </p><p>A ferocious roar begins from the center of the Kop, and seems to pulse through each person present at the ground. Bodies squeeze together as one, swaying from side to side in a trance of madness as the crowd belts out a particularly strong rendition of You’ll Never Walk Alone to welcome their guests for the night.</p><p>It’s electric and chilling all at once. Pressed against the last barrier between the crowd and the pitch, Trent smiles as the anthem draws to a close that coincides with the referee’s whistle. Trent soaks up every single second that he can, letting his fingers grip the barrier until his knuckles pale. </p><p>He has received one two many elbows to his ribs for it to be passed off as just the shift of the mass of supporters trying to get closer, and he turns to his left angrily before visibly relaxing upon seeing Andy’s smiling face. </p><p>Andy’s pressed up against the barricade as well, eyes gleaming. He throws an arm around Trent’s shoulder to shout something in his ear, that Trent can’t really make out. </p><p>“Wha’?” He shouts back, and Andy pushes closer, so close that his breath is tickling Trent’s ear as he speaks.</p><p>“There!” He gestures in the limited way that the tight space allows, nodding to the Boys’ Pen, “Aren’t you glad you aren’t stuck in there no more?” </p><p>Briefly, Trent glances up at the Boys’ Pen and can’t really see much from where he’s hunkered down near the pitch, but he can imagine what might be happening in there: young lads attempting to wiggle their way into the Kop end with a variety of different methods, like scaling the wall between the two sections, or attempting to just burst through the barbed wire. If he concentrates, Trent can still hear the screaming, the rowdy shouts that fail halfway through due to pubescent voice cracks. </p><p>It’s not pleasant. Trent decides to focus on Andy instead. In the midst of the chaos erupting behind them, all the memories come flooding back, being squished up against Andy in the enclosure, escaping into the Kop for fun, and all of a sudden Trent is hyper-aware of Andy in his personal space. The older boy’s lips are brushing against Trent’s temple as he relays his own little mental scrapbook of the good times spent together. </p><p>Trent muses idly that nothing has really changed. </p><p>“Yeah, fuck me, what a place,” Trent shouts back, and Andy’s grin softens at the edges, no doubt remembering the occasional teasing remarks he’d lobbed at Trent for being younger than him and having to spend more time in the Pen.</p><p>Their attentions shift back to the match at hand, mesmerised seeing the Reds tear through United’s defence on their way to the goal only metres away from Trent and Andy’s faces. Trent reaches a hand out to pump his fist in the air enthusiastically and gets the stink eye from a nearby policeman patrolling the space in front of the Kop. Trent ignores him. </p><p>Looking to his left again after a while, Trent finds Andy watching intensely. He had always been interested in the finer aspects of the game, and whilst it was easy to get lost in the chaotic lull of Anfield on a Tuesday night, there was something to be said about the way Andy just liked to watch, to analyse in his own mind. Trent turns back around just in time to watch Keegan head the ball into the net. </p><p>The crowd surges forward with great ferocity, and Trent is pushed impossibly close to the pitch, looking up and watching the net bulge. Shrieks and whoops ring out from the Kop end, and Trent yells as loud as he can, searching for Andy at his side to embrace him, only to not find him anywhere to be seen. Another lad grabs onto his shoulder for leverage to try and hoist himself into the air, and someone else slaps him on the back, but Andy isn’t there. </p><p>Trent won’t admit it, but he did panic for a second internally, even though he knows that they always find each other at the end of the match anyway, and just allows himself to be lost in the celebrations. Someone’s singing, another is screaming, and Trent is still trying to regain his footing from being slightly crushed in the commotion. Flashes of red and white float through Trent’s peripheral vision as the scarves swing with utmost fervor, and his heart burns with pride. </p><p>Only a minute later does he feel the warm weight on his back ease up, and Andy returns to his side, giving Trent a goofy smile. </p><p>“Did you fuckin’ see that?” Trent beams, and Andy rolls his eyes.</p><p>“No, actually,” Andy jokes, “because I was right behind you.”</p><p>Trent raises an eyebrow. “You… stood behind me?”</p><p>Andy shrugs and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. “‘Course. I know it’s painful when you’re up against the ledge like that. Tried to shield you even just a bit.”</p><p>Trent makes a small sound of disbelief in the back of his throat. “Wow, I- thanks, Robbo. Really,” he says sincerely. </p><p>Andy goes a bit quiet, but ruffles Trent’s hair and gives him another smile. “Don’t mention it.”</p><p>Trent ducks his head away and feels warmth rush to his cheeks, and he can’t shake the feeling for the remainder of the match. Even when he sees Keegan dancing with the ball at his feet, Trent can’t shake the feeling of Andy slotting in behind him and tensing up his back to separate him from the eager hoards of fans that lurk over their shoulders. </p><p>It ends 1-0, and Anfield erupts all over again as they manage to secure a win, the stress of only a one goal lead melting away with the final whistle. Trent’s overjoyed, they’re at the top of the table, and everything seems right. Andy is in a good mood as well, which is also important.</p><p>The pair stumble towards the exit eventually, laughing and joking along the way. </p><p>“Warm tonight, don’t you think?” Andy says, opening up the collar on his jacket as they step outside the ground.</p><p>Trent laughs into the back of his hand, but nods, and they keep on walking. They wander for a little while in the shadow of Anfield. Most of the crowd has dispersed by now, and the quiet of the once rowdy atmosphere inside unnerves Trent a bit. He absorbs the last things he can about being out for the day, the goal, his and Andy’s shoulders brushing against each other as they wander, neither really wanting to leave. </p><p>“Where you headed?” Andy asks, pausing before crossing the street.</p><p>“Home, probably,” Trent sighs, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice, but trying hard enough to only sound mildly put off instead of devastated. “Don’t really wanna go. I know what you’re gonna say, I’m whinging, I know.” Trent gestures with his hand as if that will prevent Andy from teasing him. </p><p>“Have a drink with me then?” Andy nudges Trent, wiggling his eyebrows comically. </p><p>“Flattered,” Trent starts, “but mum’s expecting me home.” </p><p>“Oh yeah? Wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t live with your parents.” Andy states blankly, and if Trent hadn’t been used to it he’d think Andy was serious, but the older boy can compartmentalise emotion like no other, and soon they’re walking again and shoving each other half-heartedly in the sides. </p><p>They walk in silence side by side, in no discernable direction, until they’re far enough away from Anfield that Trent knows he really has to pick up the pace if he really plans to walk all the way back to West Derby. They part somewhere along the way, Andy pulling him into a hug. Trent pats him on the back and when they separate Andy is looking at him, not anything inquisitive, not searching for anything in Trent’s face -- just looking, maybe even admiring. </p><p>“Thanks, Robbo,” Trent says, opting to avoid direct eye contact with Andy. “For bein’ there with me tonight.” </p><p>Andy raises his eyebrows. “Don’t thank me, mate. I had a great time, as always,” Andy gives his shoulder a squeeze. “I guess I’ll see you here next Saturday?” </p><p>Trent grins, and it feels a little bittersweet, knowing that he won’t see Andy for a while. If he were to, hypothetically, stick around with Andy for a drink tonight, this would be the night. A soreness weasels its way into Trent’s heart upon this realisation, and he tries his best to push it away at least until he’s home. </p><p>“Yeah, you know where I’ll be.” Trent replies. Andy smiles and slaps his shoulder lightly again, turning and walking back the way they came. </p><p>It sort of hits Trent then -- Andy had walked home with him. Well, in a way. Andy had walked him home. It produced a type of stinging inside Trent, and he watches Andy become smaller and smaller as the distance between them grew. It doesn’t feel so wrong to be watching Andy as he walked away, given that Andy had been watching over him, he supposes. At least, this is what Trent’s mind supplies for him in lieu of a proper explanation as to why he’s thinking so hard. </p><p>Trent continues on home. He thinks about Andy in the context of being his friend versus someone he just enjoys football with. He wishes that he were like Andy, traveling to away games in far flung places, not really having any strings holding him here. That’s something Trent has always admired about Andy, his free spirit and ability to sort of drift from place to place. </p><p>‘It's in my nature,’ Andy had once said, ‘but it’s no coincidence that I’ve ended up here.’</p><p>Trent feels agony when he remembers Andy saying things similar to this; vague, unclear thoughts that Trent was also guilty of. </p><p>‘Yeah, it’s no coincidence that you’ve ended up here, with me,’ Trent had wanted to say, but just like tonight, some line that must not be crossed holds him back. </p><p>By the time Trent gets home, his mum is getting ready for bed, but she had waited up anyway. Trent feels the guilt seep in, he had taken a bit of a meandering route home in favour of sulking quietly by himself on the streets. They talk a bit about the nature of the match, and Trent fibs and says he’s been round Andy’s place for dinner, which is why he’s home so late. Whilst his mum looks weary, she believes him, and Trent washes up haphazardly before retreating to his room. </p><p>He lays down on the bed, hungry and feeling a bit empty inside. </p><p>Sleep escapes him, too. Staring up at the ceiling, his mind returns to Andy, and how they’d been pressed up against each other in the Kop, sharing old memories, shouting to each other, and Trent feels his heart ache. He’s his best mate, but this realisation is still unpleasant, that Trent wishes for so much more. Even though he doesn’t quite know what that ‘more’ is, whether it’s just seeing Andy sooner or to be able to feel his body against Trent’s again, there is an undeniable ache. </p><p>It’s worse when Trent knows exactly what Andy would say at any given time if he so chooses to describe his feelings to him. That Trent’s being silly, that he’s certainly just overthinking things. Sure, he can be a bit melodramatic, and maybe that’s the perfect reason to explain why he’s feeling the way he is.</p><p>However, there is this ache, impossible to ignore now from the quiet of his room, and the soft hum from the street filtering in through the thin walls calls to Trent in the darkest parts of his mind, a dreariness and apprehensive state that only Andy can fix.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>not entirely proud of this chapter, but I hope you guys enjoy it regardless :) I have plans for a much longer one after this<br/>there's mention of violence and bodily harm in this chapter so i suggest if that makes you feel at all uncomfortable to just be aware of that!<br/>ok I think that's all xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Many hours later, Trent still cannot sleep, and he stumbles about in his room before dawn even breaks. The clock on his nightstand reads 4:55. He had spent the earlier hours tossing and turning fitfully in between brief periods of vivid dreams. The memories from yesterday’s match were still fresh, and a good portion of his dreams included small details that had leaked into his subconscious, like Andy’s bright smile, or the omnipresent, mischievous glint in his eyes. It was enough to make Trent’s heart ache, how beautiful Andy was that night. </p>
<p>Trent gazes out the window at the dark sky and sighs internally. The all-encompassing feeling of regret returns, and Trent is not one for self pity, but the sadness of not being able to see his best mate for many more days is setting in. </p>
<p>He dresses himself almost mechanically, pulling on a pair of jeans that he swore made Andy give him the eyes once, and a white polo shirt with a tiny red liver bird embroidered over his heart. He’s not vain, swears by it, but he spends a good amount of time looking at his reflection in the rust-stained mirror leaning against the wall. </p>
<p>West Derby’s quiet and subdued atmosphere is no help to Trent’s racing mind, and he soon finds himself doing almost the same thing as he had just a few hours prior -- drifting aimlessly, but this time he is alone. With no one to talk to, his mind begins to wander. At first, anything will do, any abstract concept that he can latch on to in order to forget about Andy for just a few minutes. </p>
<p>School is one of those concepts, but by the time he had left the house this morning Trent had already decided that he would be skipping class today. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but his feet take him westwards, along back alleys that he has known all his life. He picks out small memorable landmarks along the way, like the curb he had tripped over whilst he and Andy were having a kick-about, or the street that leads to a spot where thick trees line the railroad tracks that he and Andy would sit by. That memory pulls at him the most.</p>
<p>Trent had never connected on an emotional level with many of his peers at school when he was younger, and he never really had any incentive to. His teachers nor his mum saw this as anything to be concerned about, instead often praising him for being so “grown up” and having an old soul, as if this was a good thing. He only really socialised with the older lads who would congregate on street corners and certain sections of local parks, and even then they barely spoke, it was all about football. Trent was more than happy to just listen to their colourful stories.</p>
<p>Until Trent met Andy. </p>
<p>He was standing on one of the many nondescript street corners, flanked by two other lads, one of which had a football under his arm. Trent had asked to play with them, and after organising an impromptu five-a-side with some other local boys, Trent had found that Andy was actually quite good at football, but more than that, he seemed to make Trent better. There were times when Andy would somehow still play beautiful passes to Trent even when being marked twice over. It was mesmerising, and Trent felt almost like he had found a part of himself that had been missing before. </p>
<p>After the kick-about, most of the boys found themselves on their way home, but Andy stayed behind. They talked for at least an hour, mostly about meaningless topics that any normal person would forget about, but all these years later Trent can still remember Andy telling him random things like how he takes his tea. That’s when Andy had shown Trent the spot by the train tracks, almost completely protected by layers of brush and tall trees. </p>
<p>“C’mon, I know a place for us.”</p>
<p>A place for us. Trent doesn’t consider himself very sentimental, but that one phrase holds more meaning for him than a lot of other things. The idea of having a place just for him and Andy, perhaps in another time where Trent wasn’t a fool and could work up the courage to communicate properly with him, was new and exciting when he first began to entertain the idea, but now just seems unattainable. </p>
<p>This place, a spot that is entirely theirs, bleeds the feelings of acceptance and solidarity that Trent was never lucky enough to experience before he became friends with Andy. </p>
<p>Nonetheless, he keeps walking, saving this place for a time when he is not so unsure of himself. For Trent, someone normally so self-assured and comfortable in his own body, it feels jarring and inexplicably strange to have to turn over every decision in his head multiple times. </p>
<p>It’s love, a voice in his head tells him. Is he willing to accept this as fact? Hardly. </p>
<p>----</p>
<p>By the time he nears Stanley Park after walking for over an hour, the sky is littered with delicate specks of pink and blue that are reflecting off the clouds rolling in from over the Mersey. The entire city is bathed in a soft glow that stains the unlit street lamps and warms Trent’s skin. It does wonders for his mood, especially considering he’d approached the park just as the gates had been opened. </p>
<p>It’s a bit ridiculous, being so far from home yet feeling completely in tune to the familiarity of his surroundings. There are fleeting memories, some more fresh than others, but he cannot ignore the emptiness he feels at the prospect of not being able to share these memories with Andy, had the two gone for a pint yesterday, there would be time to reminisce. </p>
<p>Trent passes seedy corners, unkempt nooks and crannies, until he nears the westernmost part of the park, but something doesn’t feel quite right. He circles near the conservatory away from public view, feeling more anxious as the minutes go by. He feels a strong, unpleasant tightness in his chest as a group of four  lads shuffle past him on one of the footpaths. Chancing a glance up, he’s met with the hard steely faces of a group of teenagers with the telltale casual clobber, and he doesn’t have to guess to know what may happen next. </p>
<p>Whilst it may be comical sight to the untrained eye -- lads wearing identical trainers and the same denim jackets while promising that they stood for something “different” -- it was no laughing matter, being caught on the streets alone up against some kids who were already disenfranchised and needed any flimsy excuse to get violent. </p>
<p>Trent meets the shockingly cold gaze of one, then two, guys who look like the textbook definitions of pent up aggression. Had Trent been walking with his mates, maybe he wouldn’t feel so helpless in this situation, but now there isn’t much choice but to be complacent and hope that he’ll move past the group unscathed. However undignified it is of him to step down from a challenge, he quite literally is walking alone. </p>
<p>“What’re ye lookin’ at, then?” a lanky, red-faced youth spits, all snarl behind the illusion of composure. </p>
<p>“Nothin’, swear. I’m off, m-” </p>
<p>Trent barely gets the rest of the sentence out before a swift hit connects with his nose, and he folds to avoid another decisive punch aimed for his face. Knowing he can’t fight off this throng of young men by himself, he makes the decision to run, but not before he’s kicked in the stomach, causing him to double over in sudden pain. Whilst he’s bent at the waist, another hit lands on his forehead from above. He can feel the dampness of blood as he crosses his arms to protect his head. </p>
<p>A voice, that sounds much further away, shouts, “Rinse him, Tommy!” before a rain of additional punches begin. </p>
<p>The pain registers, but it’s by far the most important thing. He scans his limited field of vision for a place to run just as a loud ringing starts up in his right ear. He hears the ringing before he feels the blow, oddly enough, but he has no time to unpack how his body responds to blunt force trauma. Recklessly, he uncurls slightly and pushes his head into the chest of one of his attackers with all his strength, knocking him off balance. Trent uses this opportunity to swing and finds he has greatly underestimated the height of the lad behind him, feeling his closed fist connect with his shoulder instead of his face. Without dwelling on his misplaced strike, he legs it before he can even blink. </p>
<p>The wounds in his nose burn with the rapid intake of breath as Trent runs, but as long as he can still hear the angry shouts behind him, he pays it no mind. He runs until his lungs burn, keeping his head down to try and minimise the pain in his nose. As he’s running, Trent is still acutely aware that if he’s caught by the plod, the four lads will have greater leverage than him. As much as he resents it, he doesn’t have many advantages in the court of law, which encourages him to run faster, weaving through thickets of trees and flowering bushes. He passes an open gate, but grapples with the mental dilemma of running out into the street where he’s more likely to be caught.</p>
<p>At the next gate, he takes the chance and pushes on down one of the nearly identical streets in the L4. Trent weaves through the narrow passages, by now in unfamiliar territory, but the fear of being an outsider pales in comparison to the fear of getting battered a second time outside of the confines of Stanley Park. By now, he can’t even hear any angry obscenities being hurled his way, but he keeps running regardless. He tastes the metallic tinge of blood in the back of his mouth, and remembers how dreadful he must look. </p>
<p>Glancing quickly over his shoulder, Trent finds that he’s alone on the street, and sits down on the steps outside one of the terraced houses to catch his breath. The pure exhaustion he feels from running so far combined with his long walk earlier in the day finally takes its toll. Besides his open wounds, the weight of carrying his poorly-rested body is beginning to hurt. He knows he looks rough, but he feels a bit accomplished. In his head, although he will never admit it to anyone, Trent feels as if he could have fought off the group, even if he knew he couldn’t. </p>
<p>He sits for a few more minutes, using his fingers to stop the flow of blood from his nose, and tries to clean up his forehead a bit by using a nearby car window to see his reflection. As Trent carefully avoids the tender part of his damaged forehead, he feels a hand grab his shoulder. Expecting the worst, he quickly shields his face before turning around to see which one of the four thugs chose to follow him all the way here, only to be met with the concerned and deeply disturbed face of Andy Robertson.</p>
<p>He wants to speak, to explain himself, and to ask Andy for help all at the same time, but all that he can muster is a meek apology that isn’t even directed at Andy. </p>
<p>“Look, I’m sorry that I-” </p>
<p>“Don’t,” Andy begins. “Let’s get you home.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>there's a bit of dialect in here (the draft was written entirely in Scouse and was almost unreadable) so here are some definitions or just small notes:</p>
<p>- 'rinse him,' = humiliate someone with or without physical harm included<br/>- the plod are the police<br/>- the L4 is the postcode that includes Stanley Park and the surrounding areas. </p>
<p>let me know if i've missed anything, and thank you so so much for reading, i really hope you enjoyed !!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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